British Accents
by MegaOtaku777
Summary: What is Soubi really thinking about when he and Ritsuka are alone, watching a movie?  I do not own Hugo or Loveless.   Yaoi fluff.


Ritsuka sat wrapped in Soubi's arms, a microwave burrito on a plate that was balanced on his knees. His ears laid against his head in pleasure and annoyance. He was elated that the painter was beside him, watching a movie, and not fighting alone again. And that he had his favorite dinner in front of him, despite Soubi's protests for healthier food. Although the frustration came from the film on Soubi's television.

'Hugo' was the movie of the night, and so far, the older man had been able to enjoy it. He was thrilled with the idea of living in a clock-tower, imagining that he and Ritsuka were alone in its solitary confines. Ritsuka, on the other hand, was picking the film apart.

The biggest annoyance was the fact that they were in Paris, France, yet every character save one had somehow managed to develop British accents. He was trying to bite his tongue and keep from complaining, but that was a feat in and of itself. And Soubi noticed the look right on the young boy's face.

"What's wrong, Ritsuka?" he asked, rubbing circles on the boy's small shoulders. He almost chuckled at Ritsuka's explanation, his mind wandering back to his fantasy in the clock-tower by accident. "Ah," he replied. "I can see how that might be annoying." He tried to refrain from smiling, and Ritsuka could see that.

"Stop laughing!" he chided, tearing himself away from Soubi's embrace. "People in France, one, shouldn't be speaking English, and two, shouldn't be speaking like_ bloody Brits!_" He adopted an accent for himself for the last part, just to prove his point.

Soubi smiled, thinking to himself, _'He's so cute!'_ He beckoned to the smaller boy, nearly a replica of his brother. Soubi tried to steer away from those kinds of thoughts, but he couldn't help it sometimes. The way that his hair bounced around his cheek bones when he walked; even his gait was reminiscent of his sibling.

But that's where the similarities stopped. Where Semei was cruel and brutal, raising his voice nearly every day, the only time Ritsuka yelled at him was when there was good reason. And that was on rare occasions. Ritsuka smiled all the time, whereas Semei always wore a frown around his fighter unit.

Soubi was happy with this new arrangement; Semei dead and spending nearly every day with Ritsuka. A small pang was felt in his chest when he thought traitorous things like that, but Ritsuka's presence always made it better. He was comforted by every touch he received from the younger boy. Soubi had been accused by Kio for being a pervert, but he didn't care; as long as Ritsuka wanted him, he was happy.

Ritsuka perched beside him on the sofa, his arms wrapped around his legs that were tucked up to his chest. His long, black tail was curled around his ankles, twitching in the annoyance that still remained. Soubi's arm snaked around the boy's shoulders, lifting him onto the older man's lap. He held his securely, resting his chin on his small, frail shoulder.

"So, do you think you could have done a better job? French accent and all?" Soubi asked Ritsuka.

"No, I don't," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and moving Soubi's head up and down. "I just think that, with all the money they waste on these things, they could have hired some people who could at least take try to do it right."

That was another thing that Soubi loved about the boy; he didn't seem to have a "filter" over his words, and if he did have one, he rarely used it. Ritsuka's voice was electrifying, sending shivers of pleasure through his body with every syllable. Goosebumps rose on his arms when Ritsuka yelled at him, and a small warmth started in his stomach when the boy called him by name. And now, he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

Without success.

Soubi's hand cupped Ritsuka's chin in his hand, twisting the boy's head to face him. He pressed his lips to Ritsuka's, eliciting a small squeak of surprise. Although Ritsuka's muscles tensed, he didn't move away. Instead, he relaxed into the older man's embrace, clutching his shirt to move him closer.

This was one of Ritsuka's favorite activities, if you could call it that. Clinging to that smell of dried paint and bandages, melting into his lover's body…there was nothing to compare it to.

They kissed long into the night, the movie long forgotten.


End file.
